Misfortunes tell us what fortune is
by vampireskokoro
Summary: His thoughts were always irrational when it came to the Elric brothers. Now that something had happened to one of them under his watch, Roy was determined to be there for the hurt boy. mpreg
1. Hostage

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA (seriously, if I did, do you know what kind of crack would be in there?)

A/N: If a friend offers you a cookie and you promise to pay her back, stop offering to pay her back before you owe her fifty dollars. Oh, to be young and stupid and totally clueless to yaoi… nah, scratch that. I likes yaoi too much X3. This horrible story all sprung up from the fifty-dollars-in-cookies-debt I owe to my WONDERFULLY BI FRIEND! SERIUOSLY, SHE'S FRICKIN AWESOME! YOU SHOULD ALL GO TO HER HOUSE AND BURN IT DOWN! Kidding, I loves you Deli. No, she just wanted a simple, RoyAl PWP from me instead of fifty dollars. Pretty decent, seeing as I have no money… but RoyAl is _not_, I repeat _not, not, not! _my favorite shipping and I could _not_ write anything good. So after ranting to another friend, I came up with the brilliant idea "Hey! Let's threaten to make it mpreg, scare her off!"

Apparently, only _my_ friends would say "Yeah!" *head/desk* Stupid, stupid me! So, I was forced to write RoyAl mpreg… and then I started reading some torture!fics and well… let's just say Deli is a horrible sadist… Ah, but quit reading this, seriously. Read the fic, it's just a little bit better.

Oh, and just to help you understand- this is just after the end of the anime, sorta. Al still has his memories though and his body is the age it's supposed to be. Mustang never went north but kept his status as brigadier general in Central and he still has his eyepatch, cause it's smexy. New fuhrer, horrible rebels, Ed's still on the other side of the gate… yeah, I think that's it.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"Neither dead nor alive, the hostage is suspended by an incalculable outcome. It is not his destiny that awaits for him, nor his own death, but anonymous chance, which can only seem to him something absolutely arbitrary. He is in a state of radical emergency, of virtual extermination." ~Jean Baudrillard

"Warehouses seem popular with the rebels, huh, Chief?" Havoc joked as they silently approached the old warehouse on the outskirts of Central. Roy nodded, not turning his head to look at his subordinate who was standing on his blind-side. The brigadier general frowned up at the abandoned building, muttering under his breath. It would be difficult for them to get in without alerting the rebels within. He wanted to just torch the building and wait for the insurgents to scurry out like the rats they were. Only problem was, the hostages inside would most likely be abandoned to the flames. The soldiers were there to rescue as many of the hostages as they could and capture the leaders. The trouble now was going about it.

"Hawkeye, take half the men and set them up at all the exits. I don't want anyone getting out unless they're wearing military uniform," Roy ordered, directing his commands at the blond major beside him. "Havoc, take twelve men and cause a distraction in the back. I don't care what you do, just try not to kill too many people if you can." Both blonds saluted and began calling to the men under their command. "Richards, tell the rest of them to be ready."

Roy looked at the dark windows of the two-story warehouse. He chewed the inside of his lip, hoping his plan would work. These rebels didn't seem much more than the last of the insurgents who had caused mass rioting after the death of the old fuhrer. They didn't appear to be much of a threat to the military; there was estimated to be about fifty men here with about a dozen or so groups of ten scattered around the country. The only problem they posed was towards civilians. The rebels had been kidnapping and killing over the past few months and the new fuhrer was sick of it. Mustang had been sent out with plenty of soldiers to take care of the problem.

A loud explosion cut through Roy's thoughts. He heard shouts and gunshots and knew Havoc's distraction was well underway. "Let's go," he said to the men closest to him. The order was whispered down the line and soon Roy and about twenty-five men were racing into the dark warehouse.

.

"General! We've found the hostages!" Ten minutes of frantic searching, dodging bullets, detaining as many insurgents as they could, had led Roy's men to the second floor. Two soldiers stood outside the open door, alert for any rebels who weren't preoccupied by the distraction still going on outside the warehouse. Roy entered the dimly lit room slowly, waiting for a surprise attack from inside.

Six people sat against the back wall, their hands tied to their feet. The floor was covered in what appeared to be dried blood and vomit. The air was rancid with the smell of sick and infection. A body lay in the corner, mostly likely dead judging by the dirty jacket thrown over it. The six survivors looked to the soldiers with hope. The best condition of the victims seemed to be a couple very large bruises and welts while the worst (other than the dead body) seemed barely conscious

"Have you found where the leader's holed himself up?" Roy asked one of the men as the hostages were freed of the ropes.

"No, sir," the soldier said. "We sent five men on ahead to see if they could find anything."

"Are there any more hostages here?" A soldier knelt down to talk to a young woman.

"Y-yes," she murmured. "They always take him away, though."

"Only one hostage left?" the soldier asked. The woman nodded.

"Get these people out of here," Roy ordered. "Vael, Clarke, Sages, you six over there, come with me." Roy led the selected soldiers down the hall.

"General Mustang!" Roy heard the shouts followed by a series of gunshots. "General, the leader!"

Roy turned the corner and saw three of the five soldiers sent ahead firing at a small group of men fleeing from them. Roy raced after them followed closely by his soldiers. He raised his gun, taking aim at the men.

A familiar flash of red made him hesitate. His eyes widened as he saw the red jacket that had come to represent the bane of his existence, the horrible hellion that was Edward Elric. For an instant, he hoped the boy had returned even if it was these bastards that had him for nearly a year. But the wide, terrified eyes weren't the same vibrant gold, the short, honey colored hair fisted in the leader's hand not that of the older Elric. The ugly rebel cocked a gun and pressed the muzzle to Alphonse's temple. "Now, now Mustang. Let's not be too hasty about waving those guns around."

Roy took the hint and slowly lowered his gun.

"That's right," the man said smoothly as the rest of his men fled down the hall and out of sight. "Now just back away slowly and let me go or else my finger might just slip." He pressed the gun harder into Al's skin as he slowly backed away.

"No!" Al screamed, struggling to pull free. "No! Let me go!"

"Dammit, stop struggling, brat," the leader growled, yanking at the teen's hair. Roy watched with frustration, searching for an opening to shoot the rebel. He winced as the leader clubbed Al in the back of the head with the gun. The teen cried out in pain, shaking his head. He held still for a moment, allowing the rebel to gain a few paces backward. Then suddenly, Al threw up on the man's legs. The rebel cursed, releasing Al.

"Shoot now!" Roy ordered, firing his own badly aimed shot over the rebel's shoulder. The leader turned tail and ran as the soldiers began firing at him. Al fell to his hands and knees, dry-heaves wracking his body. Roy ran over to the boy. He put a hand on his boney back and watched as his men raced after their fleeing target.

"Al, are you ok?" Roy asked. Obviously not, he noted as Al continued to heave. "Calm down, Al." His tone was gruff, as if he were dealing with an unruly soldier. "We're here to save you, so straighten up." He wasn't trying to be cruel to the poor, battered teen in front of him; in situations like this, all he knew to do was give orders. But Al stopped and looked up at him. The once vibrant hazel eyes that had always conveyed so much innocence and happiness before were dull and scared.

"Help me," he said in a small voice before collapsing into Roy's arms.

.

"They captured us just so they could torture us," the young woman said. She was the one who had told them Al was still in the building and she was currently the only one captured still conscious to tell them what happened. "None of us have any good connections in the military, so they weren't ever going to use us for ransom. Those… _monsters_ just kept us tied together until they got bored and felt like beating one of us." The woman shuddered. "But… they really had an interest in Alphonse." She looked up at Roy. "You know that boy you went after is the Fullmetal Alchemist's little brother, right?" Roy nodded. "Those fiends knew it too. They kept trying to get information out of him about the military. God, he's just a kid and… they hurt him so bad. They… I was only there for a week or two and they did horrible things to him. And they had him months before they kidnapped me. It got really bad toward the end. They were scared the military was going to find them and they got rougher. Al's been throwing up every day since they captured me. Al tried to help some of us escape but we got caught. I heard he'd tried it once before and that's when they'd stated to hurt him really bad."

"Did you ever overhear any plans they had, where they were going next?" Hawkeye asked calmly.

The woman shook her head. "No. They kept us in that room for the most part. But Al might have heard something… they always dragged him off to another room and they left him there alone a lot… after they were done."

Roy nodded and began to walk out of the room.

"Wait, sir," the woman said. "You found Alphonse, right? Is he alright? Well, I know he's not but he's alive, right?"

"Yes, he's alive," Roy said curtly. "I'm going to see how he's doing."

"Oh, thank God," the woman sighed. "Can I go-"

"No," Roy interrupted. "Stay here and finish the questioning." He turned and shut the door behind him, not even bothering to listen to the woman's complaints.

He walked briskly down the hall, heading for the medical wing. He grabbed the shoulder of a nearby nurse and asked for the doctor looking after Al. She pointed to a nearby room. "He just finished with the poor kid. He should be in his office."

Roy nodded and gave her a grateful smile. He approached the office door, glancing at the small plaque with the doctor's name on it. _Doctor Richard Gellar. _

_Oh, _that_ doctor_, Roy thought. He knew Al was in the highly capable hands of one of the best doctors in Amestris (he himself had been treated plenty of times by the man during Ishbal). The doctor wasn't a state alchemist but he was the finest in medical alchemy. Roy felt a small bit of hope that Al would be all right. With a quick knock on the door, Roy entered the office.

Gellar looked up from a folder in his hands. Roy noted with some amusement that the man was mostly bald even though he was only a few years older than Roy. The doctor's eyebrows lifted in surprise as he watched Roy approach his desk.

"Hello, Dr. Richie," Roy said, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Well if it isn't Malady Mustang," Gellar teased, closing the folder and putting it down. "Haven't seen you in a few years. Of course, I probably saw enough of you in Ishbal to make up for that. So, tried to get yourself killed again?"

"Not lately," Roy said. He sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He tried to look at the name on the folder as subtly as he could. He was pretty sure it was Al's judging by the first three letters on the label he was able to read around Gellar's arm.

"I heard you took out the fuhrer." Gellar moved the file, his own subtle message to Mustang to quit trying. "Still sticking your neck out, aren't you." He grinned.

"How is Al?" Roy asked, tiring quickly of the friendly banter. He had far more imperative things to do than chat with an old friend.

"Always quick to get to the point," Gellar said, sitting back in his chair and pulling the file back with him. His face retained the mask of cheer but his eyes didn't match the sentiment. "He's definitely better than when you brought him in a few hours ago. OF course, that's not really saying much. He's malnourished, dehydrated, and anemic." Gellar began leafing through the pages of the file. "His left arm is broken in two places along with a couple fingers on both hands. There's a large wound on his left wrist that's become infected. If we can't get that under control we may have to amputate the hand." Gellar looked up at Roy, registering the look on the general's face. Roy's face was smooth as he nodded; he'd always been good at putting up a stoic mask. "He's covered in bruises, cuts, and a few burns, but the worst of it is definitely his left arm… There was also a good deal of anal tearing… from sexual assault."

Roy stiffened, his mask cracking. "Those bastards," he hissed under his breath. They had _raped_ Al. Gentle, innocent, kind little Alphonse had been hurt in the worst way possible. That's why the poor kid had looked so… lifeless.

"We've run some tests to see he might have picked up any diseases from it," Gellar continued. He sighed, idly shuffling the papers back into an organized pile in his lap.

"There's more, isn't there," Roy asked, interpreting the meaning behind the awkward silence.

Gellar nodded slowly. "I want you to know that I'm only telling you this bit of information because I have to. You're the commanding officer of this mission and to keep my job I have to tell you everything I find out. But I know you're a friend of Alphonse and I trust you not to sell him out to the brass."

"What's so wrong with him that we need to hide it from the fuhrer?" Roy asked, a hint of worry marring his voice.

"Well… this is going to sound completely crazy… but it is true and one hundred percent verifiable… you probably won't-"

"Just tell me," Roy interrupted. Gellar looked him squarely in the eye.

"Very well. Alphonse Elric is pregnant."

Roy stared blankly at the man he had once considered to be the sanest man he'd ever met. Now he was beginning to question that. "That is a sick joke, Gellar."

"I wish it were just that," Gellar said grimly. "But it's true, just as I told you. While we searched for any other injuries, I came across an obstruction in his lower abdomen. It's a uterus, General, and I'm sure there's a fetus in there. He's been pregnant long enough for that to be easy to tell, even without the use of alchemy."

"Y-you're serious." Roy slumped back in his chair.

"Completely." Gellar sighed. "I have no idea where the uterus came from or how it got there because I know he wasn't born with it. I found another person's DNA mixed with his own while I tried to figure out what the hell was inside him."

"This is crazy," Roy murmured. "Impossible."

"But it's real," Gellar said. "And I'm sure you know it will end badly for both Al and the baby if the wrong people were to find out."

Roy nodded, covering his eyes with his hand. Dammit, this couldn't be happening. It was impossible to think of sweet Al being kidnapped, tortured, even raped but for him to wind up _pregnant_ because of it…

Roy was at a loss. It shouldn't be possible but obviously something had altered his body when it had been lost. "Does anyone else know about this?" he finally asked.

"Just me and the nurse that's looking after Al," Gellar replied. "And neither of us will tell anyone about this. We're here to save lives, not destroy them."

Roy stared blankly at his feet as he remembered the same words coming from a younger doctor's mouth moments before he was killed by the alchemist's own hands. "So what do we do?"

"For now, nothing," Gellar responded, putting the folder back on his desk. "We need to wait for Al to recover more before we tell him anything. I want him to be stable and not on so many medications before he has to make any life changing decisions."

"Can't you do anything about this?" Roy asked, looking up. "Get it out of him or something?"

"Like an abortion?" Roy nodded. Gellar shook his head. "That's for Al to decide. I won't kill the baby if that's not what he wants. Al has to come to grips that he is carrying a life inside him. But if he can't and it's too much for him to deal with, I will terminate the pregnancy."

Roy exhaled through his nose. "Thanks, Richie."

.

Unconcious, bandaged, and hooked up to a few machines, Al looked extremely vulnerable. The rebels had cut his hair and they had obviously done so to hurt him. Patches of his hair had been nearly ripped out and the now covered cuts in his scalp gave testament to the brutality of the act. His left forearm was completely bandaged and bound tightly to his chest in a sling. He looked small under the white hospital sheets. His face was calm as he slept peacefully. Roy stood beside the bed, looking down at Al like he had been doing for almost half an hour, speculating what kind of damnable world would allow such an innocent kid to be in this situation.

Roy resisted the urge to brush the ragged bangs from Al's face. It was hard for him not to want to protect the boy. Seeing someone who was always so strong and alive look so weak and broken stirred feeling in him that he didn't feel very often. He wanted to protect Al, to do whatever he could to make sure the poor kid was never hurt again. He'd only ever felt that around Maes and his trusted subordinates.

"General?" Roy looked over his shoulder to see Riza standing behind him, Her brown eyes looked at him anxiously. "Is he ok?"

"He's fine," Roy said, looking back down at Al. "He'll make it. He's strong."

"Are _you_ ok, sir?" Riza put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about me," He said, gently shrugging off the sign of comfort. "We've got more important things to think about." Like tracking down the rebel leader who had managed to escape and reporting all that had happened to their superiors. Like figuring out what to do about the pregnant teenage boy in front of him who would be waking up in just a few hours.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o

A/N: Please review... that's all I get out of this TT_TT


	2. Safe

Disclaimer: FMA is owned by people who don't owe their best friends fifty dollars because they kept mooching cookies off of them (well, maybe it is, but it's definitely not owned by me).

A/N: Wow, this took longer than I thought it would… sorry 'bout that. I've been a little uninspired about parts of this chapter. I finally decided to cut it a bit shorter just so I could get an update out for all of you wonderful people.

Big glomps and thankies to Itami Yatake, CapriaStar, and velveteen-dragon for your wonderful reviews and thanks to everyone who faved/alerted! You all really need to get better taste in fanfiction (no, I kid! Your reviews are the only thing getting me through this without severe mental trauma… although sadly I have sort of fallen for the RoyAl fandom… curse you!)

Oh, and I'm currently looking for a buddy to bounce ideas off of, so if you're interested in helping me out with this, just let me know and I might be able to get the next chapter out faster…

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"Man torturing man is a fiend beyond description. You turn a corner in the dark and there he is. You congeal into a bundle of inanimate fear. You become the very soul of anesthesia. But there is no escaping him. It is your turn now..." ~Henry Miller

_Al blinked back tears as he recovered from the shock of the boot to his stomach. He gasped raggedly, trying to regain the air that had been driven out of him. He gasped as he was kicked again. His stomach hurt, his lungs burned, and he coughed, failing to reclaim the much-needed air._

_"Had enough yet, kid?" A cruel voice asked. Al squinted up at the man through pain-clouded eyes. The man grinned down at him and kicked him again. Al curled up on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself. "It's rude not to answer." The man grabbed Al's hair, pulling the boy up. Al tried to keep the pain off of his face as he was thrown against a wall._

_Let it end, let it end, Al prayed silently to anything that would listen. The man stomped over to him, his leather boots echoing loudly on the stone floor. Al struggled to sit up, to show he wasn't broken yet. The man leered at him._

_"Aren't we so tough," the man said, crouching down in front of Al. He ran his fingers over the boys face and Al shivered as he felt dirty fingernails drag painfully across his cheek. The fingers slowly made their way to his neck and he tensed. A cruel smile flashed his way before a calloused hand wrapped around his neck. Al tensed, scrabbling at the hand crushing his throat. He couldn't breathe. He tried to kick at the man but he was already too weak to do much damage. He couldn't breathe. He squirmed and clawed and gasped and choked but he couldn't breathe!_

_The hand disappeared and Al slumped to the ground, gasping, putting his hands to his neck in case the man tried to strangle him again. He didn't try to get up a second time._

_The man stood and picked him up by the front of his torn shirt. "Come on, Alphonse. It's a simple question. We just want to know where your brother is hiding."_

_Al kept his mouth shut, knowing it was a waste of desperately needed breath to answer. He closed his eyes and told himself it didn't hurt, it didn't hurt, oh god, it hurt! The man's fist connected with the side of his face, drawing blood and clouding his thoughts._

_"Ok, let's try this one," the man said, hitting Al again. "What's that damn murderer up to? Hmm? You know, Mustang, the one who killed our fuhrer."_

_"Why do you care?" Al wanted to say but it came out as a senseless mumble past the blood in his mouth. He was tired, fading fast._

_"What was that?" The man asked, pulling Al closer. Al gave him the coldest look he could manage in his half-beaten state and answered, "Fuck you."_

_The man frowned and released Al, letting the boy fall to the hard, concrete ground below. Al blinked as he watched the boots walk away from him and he sighed in relief as the world went dark…_

Al awoke, wondering if he had really been dreaming. His waking hours had long ago melted into his dreams. He was never certain if he was suffering through a new day of torture or reliving an old one. Whether a dream or not, it was pain and he just wished for it to end.

He opened his eyes slowly, knowing he would be kicked all the harder if _they_ thought he was still asleep. He stared dully at the white ceiling above him, trying not to think about the next torture of the day.

His eyes widened and his breath hitched as he looked at the clean, white ceiling. Where was he? This wasn't anywhere in the old warehouse he'd ever been before. It was too clean, too white, white, white, everything white. Why were the walls so close, so empty? Where were the men, the bastards that hurt him? Were _they_ waiting for him somewhere? Al's breathes came out in frantic gasps as he struggled to figure out where he was. Where, where, where?!

His nose stung, smelling a sharp, clean sort of smell he associated with Winry's automail shop. What had happened to the clogging smell of blood and sick? He struggled to hear past his frantically beating heart. He heard soft whispering nearby and he tensed. Whisperings he remembered, whisperings made sense. He always heard people whispering, from the other people captured with him trying to keep their worried voices down or from _them_ as they planned what to do about the military. Al turned his head quickly toward the sounds. His vision blurred for a moment and the room span, making him feel nauseous. His stomach clenched and Al rolled over in the bed to throw up over the cold, metal railing. He had nothing inside him to give up but his body seemed to think otherwise as he spat out clear fluids.

"Al?" He could hear a familiar voice through the ringing in his ears. Looking up, Al saw a man approaching him, a blond woman standing close behind him. He tensed, ready for a beating. "Al, it's ok." The man held up his hands as he approached. "Do you know who I am?"

Who was he? Al tried to remember, feeling he should recognize the man. "Mustang?" He said, the name popping to his lips before he could really think about it.

"That's right," Mustang said. Al watched him warily as the man sat next to him on the bed.

"Where… am I?" Al asked hesitantly. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know. If he were still trapped in their hands, then this was probably just a prelude to a new form of torture. He didn't want to still be in that hellhole.

"You're in a hospital," Mustang explained.

"Hospital?" Al looked around the room again. Why was he in a hospital? He couldn't remember anything but the things they had done to him, the beatings, the torture, the constant, pointless questioning. Why would he be in a hospital?

"That's right," Mustang said. "We rescued you."

Al's eyes snapped to Mustang. Rescued. He'd hoped for rescue in the beginning but he'd given up after so long. The thought left him reeling for a moment. "Th-they're gone?"

"Yes," Mustang said, nodding. "You're safe."

Safe. Al felt something stirring inside him, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. It was an emotion he had learned to squash it down any time it chose to surface. He ignored it now, not wanting to feel it after so long. "What… what happened?"

"We found where they were hiding and rescued you," Mustang explained. "We got all of the others out, too."

"The others are ok?" Al asked, that emotion rousing inside him again. He pushed it to the back of his mind.

"They're all fine," Mustang answered. "Some are being treated here and a few want to know how you're doing."

Al looked down at himself, noting the bandages on his arms and the tight sling trapping the left one to his chest.

"Your arm is broken and cut pretty badly," Roy answered Al's unasked question. "You've got some other injuries and… well, your arms the worst of it right now."

Al nodded, not listening, trying to forget _the strong hands holding him down, the knife cutting into his wrist, the laughter, the cracking sounds as he struggled to be free_ what had happened to him. He shivered, curling on his side. His was forced to face Mustang because of his broken arm. He saw the sad look on the general's face and watched a gloved hand reach out to touch him.

"Don't touch me!" Al said, flinching away. He looked at Mustang leaning over him, staring with wide, terrified eyes. He was too close, his hand was just like _theirs_, too close and frightening. _They_ leaned over him, touching him, laughing at him. Then _they_ hit him, scratched him, hurt him so much.

_Make it stop!_

Al hugged himself, curling into a ball as he tried to come back to where he was. Mustang moved off of the bed, giving Al room. Al closed his eyes against the hurt, worried look on the general's face. Mustang had saved him and here he was paying him back by being afraid of him. He shouldn't be afraid of the general, Mustang wouldn't hurt him. But he could. Mustang could kill him if he wanted to. The man had killed whole towns in Ishbal, killing one defenseless boy wouldn't be hard.

_He didn't want to do that._

_(He could do it now if he wanted.)_

_No, he wouldn't do that!_

_(He'll give you back, where you belong, where you won't escape.)_

_I'm not going back!_ Al shook his head, shivering as he held back a sob. He didn't want to be afraid anymore. He didn't want to be scared. The only thing he had left to feel…was complete and utter relief and hope. He'd only felt fear and pain for so long that the rush of emotion left him weak. He felt defenseless, and his shoulders tensed as he began to cry, still struggling against the tears. He didn't want to show emotion. Emotion caught their attention and made them more violent.

"Hawkeye, will you go tell Gellar that Al is awake?" Mustang's voice was soft as he addressed the blond woman. Al heard the door open and quietly shut and felt absolutely alone. Lost in a sudden wave of panic, that was the last thing he needed. He hated being alone, separated from everyone. It reminded him too much of how much he had failed his brother.

His eyes snapped open as Mustang sat down next to him again. His skin crawled as the older man placed a hand on his shoulder. He cringed, his body screaming to get away from the contact while his mind longed for the reassurance that someone was there. He reached up and grabbed Mustang's jacket, seeking something to cling to.

Mustang shifted next to him, lying down in the cramped space of the hospital bed. Al's breath came out brokenly as he was pulled into a warm embrace. He released the sobs, not bothering to hold back his tears. He needed to release what he'd been suppressing for so long and he didn't even care if Mustang saw.

"Shh, easy, Al," Mustang soothed. Al clutched at Roy's jacket all the harder, burying his face in Mustang's dress shirt. "It's ok, Al, it's over. You're safe."

In his savior's strong arms, Al let out everything he had been holding in. In these wonderful, strong arms, he felt protected. He no longer felt afraid with Mustang so close. It was over, the nightmare of pain, fear, bones breaking, skin tearing, their laughter. No, it was never over. His body wracking sobs and frightening memories were obvious evidence that it was far from over. For now, though, it didn't matter.

In his savior's arms, he finally felt safe.


	3. Trust

A/N:

Heheh, hiya all. Sorry I've been a little late in getting this out but apparently my body wanted to give me a taste of my own medicine and make me experience what Al's going through (cramps, blech, there are times when being a girl sucks). Anyway, over personal problems, I hope you like this chapter… and now I'm gonna go finish some homework and go braindead in my room.

.:.

Only **trust** thyself, and another shall not betray thee."

William Penn

Al hated the small, white hospital room. It was open, empty, exposing. Al had nowhere to hide in the blankness. Bandaged and trapped in bed, he felt vulnerable. Anyone could come in and he could do nothing to protect himself. He was left alone too much during the day with only his terrifying thoughts for company. Even sleep held no relief, nightmares making sure Al never forgot, never escaped the prison of the torture. The drugs they forced into him to make him sleep when he refused only provided a prison of emptiness all too soon to be interrupted by what he could do nothing about but remember.

The nurses tried to be nice to him and he _tried_ so hard but he was so afraid of them and they just didn't understand that he didn't want to be touched, didn't want to see their sympathy. He wanted to but he could find no comfort in their attempts to help him. They had no idea what he'd gone through but they kept insisting they understood when he flinched away from them. They had no idea that touching him wasn't helping because they kept touching him and he was afraid of that, that the touching he didn't want would continue and turn to more than just touching, the way _their_ touching had changed so quickly. He knew they were trying to help him, knew it, wanted to accept it, but it wasn't their help he really wanted.

He wanted Mustang back.

He was confused by his need to have the general in the room. He figured it was just his mind trying to find a way to cope, settling on the person who had rescued him. He was engulfed in the relief that he wouldn't be hurt but recent experience kept screaming at him that it would all happen again. Mustang could protect him, though, he knew that. It was still no less confusing that he wanted the general watching over him as much as he wanted his brother back.

Al curled onto his side as he remembered his brother again. He needed to get out of this too small, white, empty room, out into the world to find some way to bring his brother back. He still refused to believe Ed was dead; no way would his brother let that happen.

But out there in the world, alone and searching blindly… _they_ could find him again.

_We'll always find you._

_They_ would hurt him again. _They _could come barging into the room and take him back, away from the safety. The torture would start again and he would never get out.

His stomach clenched and he rolled over to throw up over the side of the bed into a well-placed bucket.

Spitting out the last offending traces of vomit, Al wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rolled back onto his back. The room spun around him a little bit as the nausea took its time to wear off. Looking at the pockmarked ceiling, someone's failed attempt at decoration, was the only thing Al could do in the bed (other than sleep but that meant more nightmares) and so he opted for staring. He stared at the shadows and bumps, searching for answers. Why was he still so sick? He was supposed to be better now that _they_ were gone.

_You'll never escape._

_Shut up_. Al searched for answers but the nondescript blotches offered nothing. He couldn't handle this forced inactivity much longer, he'd go insane. He had to get out and find his brother… But what if he'd caught something? Al new enough about… _that_ to know about the repercussions _they (leaning over him, intruding and tearing while he screamed and they shouted for more, more, more!)_ did to him. _They_ had left him with more than just scars and memories it seemed.

Al's eyes flicked to the door as it opened. Another nurse walked in, a soppy smile on her face. Al relaxed when he saw she was only carrying a tray of food instead of the dreaded bandages.

"How are you feeling today, Alphonse?" the nurse asked, putting the tray on his lap. Al shrugged in response, grimacing down at the food. He didn't have much of an appetite with the taste of vomit still in his mouth. "It's such a nice day out." The nurse grinned even wider at him. "You think you might want to go outside or a walk?"

Al stared blankly at her. _Yes_, he wanted to say. Wanted to get out of this room, out into the open where sunlight might help chase away his nightmares for a little while. But to get him outside, they would have to move him into a wheelchair, they would have to touch him again, move him out of the safety the close walls provided. The flimsy nurses couldn't keep him safe from _them_.

"We don't have to if you don't want," the nurse said when Al's breath became ragged with imagined fear. He tried to hold back a tremble as she touched his hand. "I wish you'd talk to us, sweetie. We're not going to hurt you."

He _knew_ that, he wanted to believe that… he wanted to trust them but trust had wound him up in terrible (_dark, dirty, smelly, painful, screaming, crying, hurting)_ places. He ripped his hand out from underneath hers, his skin crawling with the too-hot feeling of another person touching him. The nurse gave him that stupid sympathetic look. He hated seeing that look, the way they all looked at him like he was a beloved but broken toy. He didn't like other people feeling bad because of him.

"Alright, Al, I'll leave you alone," the nurse said, stepping away from his bed and he just wanted to scream at her _no, no, no, no, don't leave me alone!_ But the nurse was already walking away, saying over her shoulder, "Finish your lunch up, ok, sweetie?"

Once again, Al was left alone.

.:.

The phone rang and Roy looked up from his paperwork. Riza answered it in her clipped tones and fell silent as whoever called spoke down the line.

"General, the hospital…" Hawkeye handed him the phone. Roy looked at her and caught the flicker of worry in her eyes.

"General Mustang," he said authoritatively.

"Mustang, it's Richie," the doctor said, his voice tinny over the phone.

"Is everything alright?" Roy asked, trying to keep his voice and his face calm. His hands were sweaty in his gloves. Richie said he'd call if anything changed with Al and Roy was never known for his optimism…

"Evrything's fine," Richie said and Roy released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Al's fine… well, not fine, but better at the very least. Not as good as he could be, really, but all things considered…" The pause grew, silence only interrupted by the faint crackling of the connection. "I'm… telling him about… what's happening to him. Today. I can wait for you to get here if you'd like."

"Yes, I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up the phone, never one for much conversation when his nerves were frayed and his heart was senselessly pounding out of his chest. He glanced at Riza. "Dr. Gellar has information about Al's condition that he'd like to tell me in private."

The lieutenant nodded and said, "I'll go get a car ready."

As soon as the door shut behind her, Roy slumped back in his chair. He was relieved and surprised by how worried he had been. He'd been expecting a call telling him Al was worse or died in the night. The relief he felt was crushed when he realized Gellar was going to tell Al…

If he didn't know the doctor as well as he did (and one got to know people in the midst of battle fairly well), he would _seriously_ question the sanity of the doctor. It shouldn't be possible for Al to be… it wasn't fair. Roy chuckled darkly to himself. He must really be worried if he was going back on something he had learned long ago; nothing in life was fair. His thoughts were always irrational when it came to the Elric brothers. Now that something had happened to one of them under his watch, Roy was determined to be there for the hurt boy.

.:.

Al was half asleep when the door opened. He tensed at the sound of whispering. Whispering wasn't good, whispering meant _they_ were plotting something, more pain or torture. He opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. His terror abated when he saw the doctor talking to…

He couldn't hold back the sound that wanted to escape his throat. Mustang was here and there were no words for how suddenly safe he felt. Mustang would be able to keep _them_ away. He turned onto his back and slowly sat up against the pillows. Mustang and the doctor looked over at the sound of the bed moving.

"How are you feeling today, Al?" Mustang asked, walking over to the side of the bed. Al nodded, noticing how close Mustang's hands were now. He wanted the general close, he knew that, wanted Mustang to watch over him… but he knew he didn't want to be touched and those hands were almost too close. Mustang kept his distance, thankfully, as the doctor pulled up a chair.

"Well, kid, you're healing up pretty nicely," the doctor said, sitting down in the chair backwards. "We got that infection in your arm tamed down. Anything hurting you lately?"

Al shook his head

"Ok, good. One of the nurses told me you threw up again today?"

A small nod, nervous shifting.

"Still nauseas then." Gellar nodded sagely. "That should disappear soon… hopefully. It may be hard to tell in your case. Not exactly normal."

Not exactly normal. Al understood that. It was "not exactly normal" for a four-year-old to understand alchemy with no more assistance than his five-year-old brother. It was "not exactly normal" to be abandoned on a deserted island, to have a lesson taught to you while the teacher simultaneously beat the crap out of you. "Not exactly normal" to attempt human transmutation and wind up a hollow suit of armor.

"So, Al… I need you to tell me something." The doctor looked at him seriously. "The people that kidnapped you… do you remember if they experimented on you? Attempted surgery or alchemy?"

Al blinked at him. Did he remember? Yes. He remembered _every _damn thing _they_ had done to him. Every blow he had received from tightly curled fists, every kick from heavy boots, every strike from the nearest available club was imprinted skin as dark bruises. Every cut would leave its mark as raised scars. Every broken bone would be a reminder. All his hair falling to the floor. The constant questioning.

'_Where's your brother?'_

_I don't know. I have to find him._

_The back of a hand colliding painfully with his face._

'_Tell us, brat.'_

_I don't know. Just leave me alone._

'_C'mon, Alphonse. Just tell us something. Anything at all. How about Mustang?'_

_I told you, I don't-_

_The hands grabbing him, holding him down, bruising him. They were starting again._

_He screamed._

"I don't know," Al said, eyes shut tight, hands fisted tighter in the sheets. His body shook. "I don't remember, please don't make me remember."

"Ok, Al, it's fine. You don't have to tell us." The doctor smiled softly at him. "We don't need to know right now."

Al nodded slightly, trying to fix his breathing. Something was stuck in throat and he couldn't get enough air past it. He opened his eyes and saw Mustang reaching for him.

"Don't touch me," Al said automatically, flinching away from the gloved fingers. "Please," Al added softly.

"Al…" the doctor said, gaining Al's attention again. He paused, as if picking the right words. "What I'm about to tell you… It's important you listen, it's… this is going to affect your life a great deal in the near future…"

Al tensed, waiting for the doctor's news. The doctor would tell him what was wrong with him, what disease was eating away inside him. He didn't want it to be painful, he'd hurt enough for a lifetime. Maybe it would devour him quickly, killing him before he could begin to find his brother again.

"You're-"

Sick, dying, diseased, dirty.

"-pregnant."

His mind was slow to process the word, trying to remember what he knew about the disease from _them_, the disease he would eventually die from, the disease…

Wait…

"What?" Al asked flatly, looking blankly at the doctor.

"You're pregnant, Alphonse."

Pregnant wasn't a disease. Pregnant wasn't something he could get from _them_. Pregnant couldn't be right because pregnant wasn't possible.

"Can't- how?" There had to be a mistake. They were tricking him, that was it. They were lying to him about what was really wrong with him.

"I'm not exactly sure 'how'," the doctor said, meeting him in the eye. "Somewhere along the way, a uterus was introduced to your body and… fused into it. I'm assuming alchemy was involved but however it happened… when you were kidnapped and raped, it was all that was needed to-"

Al's heart raced and whatever was blocking his throat expanded, making his breathing harsher at the word "rape". That's what they had done to him. The held him down and touched him, felt him, intruded him. They held him down and _raped_ him and all he could do was scream and beg for them to stop. They dirtied him, made his body filthy. He hated what they did to his body, the body his brother had done everything to get back. His brother sacrificed himself for Al's body and Al had paid him back by letting someone ruin it.

"-do you want to do?" the doctor was talking while Al was drowning in the nightmares. The doctor and Mustang looked at him, the doctor expectant, Mustang a bit worried. Al swallowed but couldn't get past the block in his throat.

"You have options, Al," the doctor continued when Al didn't answer with much more than a few gasps. "You can carry the pregnancy to term… or I can perform an abortion for you."

Al tried to breath. They were asking what he wanted to do about being pregnant but there was nothing to do because he wasn't pregnant, couldn't be, there was no logical way he could be pregnant. He could only think about how he betrayed his brother. His brother had given everything for his body and Al had let someone ruin it. They broke the body he should have protected. It was his brother's last gift to him and now there was something not of him inside his body.

_We've marked you now, boy. You're ours._

_No._ Al shook his head. No, this wasn't happening. He didn't want anything of theirs touching him ever again.

_We're not going to leave you alone. _

"Al?" A hand weighed heavily on his shoulder and Al shook. "Are you-"

"No!" Al shouted, jerking away from the hand. "No, just make it stop!"

_We're not going to stop._

"Please, I didn't do anything wrong. Stop."

_You're ours, we're not letting you go._

"I don't want- Don't touch me!"

Al…

"Please, I'm sorry."

.:.

Roy drew his hand back as Al began panicking. The frightened boy had Roy worried for the kid's mental stability. He'd seen soldiers fall into insanity from the affects of bloody warfare and Al seemed to be falling right along with them. Whatever those bastards had done to him was scaring him, traumatizing him even after their threat was long gone. Al shook his head violently, as if he wanted to shake out his nightmares.

"Al, it's ok," Gellar said softly. "We're not going to hurt you. We want to help you."

"Please don't hurt me," Al whimpered to his inner demons. "I don't want this, make it stop."

"Al, look at me." Gellar grabbed Al's chin in a tight grip, forcing the teen to look him in the face. "You have to tell me. Do you want to go through with this pregnancy?"

"No!" Al pulled his chin out of Gellar's hand. "No, just stop, please."

"Ok, Al I'll make it go away," Gellar soothed, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Al's face. Al turned away from him, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball. Roy watched helplessly as Al continued to mutter and beg. "Give me a few minutes, Al, and we'll make it stop." Gellar stood and gestured to Roy to follow him out of the small room. Roy gave the boy one last worried look before shutting the door behind him.

"That was probably too much for him so soon," Gellar said once they were inside his office. "But the longer we wait, the harder it is to form an abortion… where did I put that folder?"

"Are you going to do it today?" Roy asked blankly, leaning exhaustedly against the doorframe.

"Al isn't ready for this," Gellar said. He looked at him seriously over a filing cabinet. "That reaction he just gave is more than enough for me that he can't handle this."

Roy nodded and thought of how easily a terrorist's flesh could burn.

.:.

Pregnant involved an egg and a sperm. They formed a single cell that quickly grew into many cells inside the womb. Half the DNA from the father and half from the mother merged together to form a different set of DNA. Pregnant meant a new life was forming. It was something that could not be replicated any other way. Old life could not be recreated but a woman could create a new life inside her. When he tried to bring back life, he lost everything. It wasn't possible for him to create life.

Now there was a doctor, a professional who should know what he was talking about, telling him that, in fact… he could. He couldn't _bring back_ a lost life. Instead, it seemed he was creating a new one. Pregnant meant a _person_ was forming. A little person who would grow up with dreams and hopes. Everyone started out as a mass of cells inside their mother. If the doctor wasn't lying to him, someone was about to break the mold.

Al touched his stomach hesitantly, suddenly afraid of his own hand. Nothing felt any different to him, inside or out. He had nothing but the word of some strange doctor. In a few months, he may have more to believe in but until then, he could only trust the doctor. Al could understand why his brother never trusted people. When the universe was conspiring to tear you apart, trusting someone only helped to pull at the seams. Trusting used to be easy for Al… and now he didn't want to believe anything anyone told him ever again.

But… pregnant? There was no way for him to grasp the concept. He was _male_ and it shouldn't be possible. How could he possibly have the necessary organs? Still…

Pregnant meant baby. Something small and helpless that would need him for everything. It wasn't something he had ever really planned for his life, having a kid. When he was little, he'd thought about having a family, in the innocent way most children do. Grow up big and strong like the dad he couldn't remember, marry the little girl who shared her crayons the first day of school, have a bunch of kids and let them do whatever they wanted because parents are wrong and rules are stupid. As he grew up, real life told him it wasn't going to happen like that. That little girl no longer lived in Risembool and rules really were necessary for life, to keep things safe and in order. He didn't want to be like his dad because his father had abandoned them. Life wanted him to have a family but it was breaking all conventions to let him do it.

Tissues were forming under his hand, a fetus starting to take shape. _My baby_, Al thought, rubbing his stomach. A soft smile pulled his mouth up, his muscles twitching slightly at the forgotten expression. It had been so long since he last smiled. Seems he was trusting the doctor after all. He looked out of the far window at the dirty wall of the building next door. It was a rather dumb place to put a window, nothing to look at but faded brick and some vines. The ceiling was only the slightest bit less interesting. So once again, he was bored and alone, but for the first time… he didn't feel afraid.

It wasn't long before Mustang came back. The general looked at him and Al couldn't read any expression on the pale face. His eyes fell to the large patch that covered almost half of Mustang's blank face. He recognized someone who had been hurt, someone who really did understand what happened to him. But showing emotion was bad and Al's face fell back into a slightly frightened mask.

"I have to go now, Al," Mustang said, stopping at the foot of the bed. "Dr. Gellar will look after you. He'll make sure it doesn't hurt."

"What's going to hurt?" Al asked worriedly. The pain was supposed to be gone. He didn't want it to come back.

"Nothing," Roy assured him. "You won't feel it. They'll take everything out and it will all be over."

"Take everything out?" Al looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. What were they taking out of him?

"Only what's not supposed to be there," Roy said and Al suddenly understood. A baby was formed in a uterus inside a _woman_. A young man shouldn't have one. A uterus and ovaries shouldn't be inside him and a baby was _not_ supposed to be inside him.

"They want to get rid of…" Al was horrified at the thought.

"It'll be over quickly," Mustang promised. Behind him, the door opened and a nurse walked in.

This is what happens when people know they're trusted. They say something and innocent people believe them. And then they do something that hurts the person who trusts them the most. Brother never trusted people because he learned early that people would only let him down. Al learned the hard way that people only wanted to hurt him and take everything he had.

"No," Al said.

"What?" Mustang asked.

"I don't want them to," Al said, hand holding his stomach tightly.

"I promise, Al, you won't feel anything." Mustang let the nurse pass him. "They'll take care of everything and you can leave the hospital."

"No. I don't want them to take away my baby!" Al lurched away from the nurse. "Please, don't take away my baby."

Mustang's face was no longer blank and Al pleaded to the surprise with his eyes.


End file.
